


Daughter of death

by Alexthefangirl77



Category: The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Foster parents suc ass, Haha third work of the day, How do I type so fast, I am a sucker for fanfiction, I might need to translate that, It is now a chapter story aha, Leo is cute whilst tiny, Please save me from my shitty imagination, SO. MUCH. SPANISH., This is bad. I wrote it months ago and forgot about it., Why am I addicted to spanish OCs, i would know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 19:24:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12871353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexthefangirl77/pseuds/Alexthefangirl77
Summary: Dawn is a half-blood. Half human, and no, not half god. Half Titan. Her father is the Thanatos, Hades' servant, and ruler of death itself. What happens when an introverted and dark young girl meets a bright, cheery optimistic demigod by the name of Leo Valdez?





	Daughter of death

**Author's Note:**

> Augh. I need to translate at the end. Dammit guys!

Prologue  
Dawn did not fit in.  
She didn’t fit in at all, even on a cellular basis. Dawn was special. Dawn was what you call a demigod-a spawn of a Titan, and a mortal human. Specifically, the spawn of a certain Thanatos and a gorgeous Latino-American teenager. Dawn was also special in other ways. She is the first descendant of Thanatos in the history of Olympus. She is an elemental. She can hence bend fire, water, air, and earth to her will, courtesy of the genes of her mother. She can kill anything with a single touch, as her descendance is of the Titan of death. Or really, Death himself. 

Chapter one  
Dawn was usually alone. Being the daughter of Death didn’t necessarily attract people, and charm them into talking to her. Despite her striking beauty- long brown hair, coal black eyes, and tan olive skin- she really wasn’t a people person. She let off an eerily dark vibe that would shill people to the core. So, naturally, they avoided her.  
She was abandoned by her mother at three years old. She didn’t remember what her mother looked like anyways. At four years old, she was taken into an abusive foster home, so when she was old enough to be on her own, she left. At six years old, she was living on the streets. She probably would’ve died there if not for her father. He had donned his only child with a stygian iron dagger that would transform into a blue topaz ring, her birthstone. He enhanced her ability for survival, which made it nearly impossible to trust people. She was taken off the street by the Children’s support agency, and placed in another foster home, hoping this one would stick. By the age of ten, she could manipulate shadows and shadow travel. Dawn could not speak. She ran, once again from her foster home a week before her eleventh birthday. She was confronted by a drakon Hera had sent to kill her. It succeeded. She was sent to the depths of Tartarus, her father’s realm, but escaped into Hades’ realm, where she met Nico di Angelo. She was guarded there for nearly a decade without aging, when she finally decided she could handle the outside world. She was sent to another foster home, knowing little english. She communicated in her mother tongue, spanish. She met a young boy by the name of Leo Valdez, who quickly befriended her. This is where her story really begins.

Dawn  
Dawn peered warily at the small boy that walked into the room. His curly black hair was unruly and a mess. He wore a cream coloured button up shirt, tattered and worn, and suspenders with tearing seams. His thin legs were clothed with brown patched khakis. He smiled- an impish, lopsided grin that warmed Dawn’s heart despite her unease. He waved at her. Her foster mother, Beatrice Caulfield, ushered him into the small bedroom, and glanced at him disgustedly before sauntering away. Leo turned slowly to face Dawn. “I’m Leo.” he said softly, a trace of a hispanic accent in his voice. “¿Hablas español?” she asked in a murmur. Dawn could easily read people. She could tell what they were thinking and could look right through people’s disguises. Her coal black eyes bore into his flame colored ones. His face, littered with freckles, brightened. “¡Sí!” “Hm.” Dawn picked up her book.  
Leo  
Leo saw the pretty girl as he walked into his new foster home. She looked really lonely. Leo immediately wanted to go give her a hug, but his new foster mother held him by the hand. He smiled at her as Miss Bea left the room. She asked him if he spoke spanish. Her accent reminded him of his mother. She began reading her book. I wish I could read, he thought. “Are you new here?” he asked, bounding over to where she was propped up on her bed. “No.” “How long have you been here?” “Long.” He pouted. He wasn’t really getting answers, and she seemed to be annoyed by him. “How is the food here, at my old home, Teresa would always serve the same thing every night. Shepards pie week after week-Hey, is that greek mythology? I know a lot about that stuff. My mom used to say it’s because…” His face fell as he mentioned her. She had died in an accident. A fire, that he had caused. He masked his pain and put on a grin. Leo plopped down next to the girl, and she flinched, scooting away slowly. Leo didn’t seem to notice. He squinted at the page. “You’re lucky you can read. I can’t, at least not yet. My teachers said I have dislemica or something.” “Despite the tension, the girl giggled. “It’s dyslexia, Leo.” She said softly. “Oh. Can you read to me?” she nodded and began reading aloud. “In Homer’s Iliad…”  
After supper, they trudged up to their room, and the girl went and sat on her bed, taking out a notebook from under her pillow. She scratched something on the paper with a red pen. Red was Leo’s favorite colour. He liked this girl. She was different than the other older girls at his other foster homes, who were shallow and would only speak to Leo if the toaster needed to be fixed or the cable wasn’t working. She seemed to see through his soul. He shivered despite the warm September humidity in the air. He still hadn’t learned her name. “¿Cómo te  
Llamas?” he inquired as he strolled up to where she was sitting. She gazed up at him through dark lashes. “Dawn.” she responded. She pronounced it Duhn instead of the usual American pronunciation, Dahn. It must be her accent, he thought to himself. Mami used to talk the same way. “Mi madre solía llamarme su sol.” she faltered. Leo wondered what happened to her mother. Maybe she was caught in an accident too. She spoke up again, this time gesturing across the room. “Tu cama está allí.” “Oh. Gracias.” he went and flopped onto his bed. Not long after, he curled up and drifted off.

Dawn  
As their plates were set down in front of them, Leo peered disgustedly at the mush that was supper. Miss Bea really didn’t know how to cook. He looked at Dawn and smiled maliciously. “¡ La comida podría ser mejor, pero el servicio aquí es absolutamente horrible, señor!” Dawn giggled inaudibly, knowing their foster mother hadn’t understood a word he had said. “¿Acaba de llamarme Señor?” She asked jokingly. It wasn’t often that she displayed humour, much less emotion. Dawn was closed in and introverted. They grinned at each other. A door was slammed in the front entrance. As Mr Caulfield, Miss Bea’s husband stormed in, their expressions were wiped off their faces and they lowered their eyes to their plates. Mason Caulfield was a burly man, with a thick beard, and sharp blue eyes that seemed to read your thoughts. Leo muttered under his breath. “‘Moquillo el anciano.” Mr Caulfield looked up from his meal, and peered through angry eyes. “What, boy?” “Nothing.” he uttered quickly, mashing around the contents of his dish. “Better’ve been.” Mr Caulfield growls, shoveling his supper into his mouth. The rest of dinner passed in silence.Dawn trudged upstairs, Leo in tow. “Is Dawn short for something?” He asked. “Do you have a middle name or something?” Dawn looked back at him from the top step. “No.” She turned and walked to their room in reticence. When she sat on her bed, she sighed and put her head in her small hands. Dawn was thinking about telling Leo. Telling him what happened to her. But Dawn was also afraid. He’d call her a freak. He’d cower with wide, fearful eyes and tell her she was crazy. Dawn didn’t want to risk it. She flopped back onto the cushy duvet, the only happy thing about her dreary room. It had been a gift from her social worker. It was white, with gray roses spilling over the side in a twisted pattern. It was soft and at least it kept her warm at night. It was the only thing she would keep when she ran away. Their room was painted an ugly shade of yellow, the color of bile. A lone, disheveled lamp stood in the corner by the door. Beside her bed, Dawn had a small, rust coloured wooden nightstand, battered with scuff from previous foster children who’ve grown and moved out. A tiny lamp with coloured glass decorated the furnishing. A few panels were shattered, and a dim light shone through the fissures. The overhead light was burnt out, they had learned the hard way. Leo had turned it on, and the light bulb shattered and sparked. It would’ve set fire to the carpet if Dawn had not thrown her duvet over it. That’s why there was a small black charred patch on the top left corner. The only other light source was a small, dirty window outlooking onto the porch in the backyard. Dawn threw the duvet back and scuttled into bed, wrapping herself in the soft, warm blanket like a little latina burrito.

Leo  
Leo knew that look. When his mother died, that look would often cross his face when no one was looking. Her face contorted, and her eyebrows furrowed as her eyes grew shiny. She then peered around the room as if studying it for the first time. She then burrowed herself in her comforter, her small body shivering as her torso moved to her breathing. He lay awake until late in the night when he finally stirred and uprose from his bed and crept to Dawn, poking her on the shoulder gently. “Dawn. Pssst. Despertare, Dawn.” She grumbled and turned to face him, clearly not amused that she was being touched, much less woken up in the middle of the night. “¿Qué?” she whispered, keeping her voice low so Miss Bea wouldn’t hear. “Can’t sleep.” Leo said quietly, peering at her through the shroud of darkness. She sighed. “Entonces cuenta ovejas.” Leo whined softly and tiptoed over to his own bed, watching as Dawn shifted once again, in an attempt to get comfortable on the firm bed. His eyes glinted mischievously. He picked up his pillow, and chucked it across the room. It landed smack on her face. She bolted upright, and glared at Leo. “Lo siento.” He grinned. “Seguro que estás.” she growled, then threw the pillow full force at his face, landing it’s target. Leo uttered a muffled “Oof!” then fell back onto his bed. “Ahora Duérmete, estúpido.” she murmured, dosing off.

**Author's Note:**

> Que-what  
> Gracias-Thank you  
> Como te llamas-What's your name  
> Hablas espagnol- You speak spanish?  
> Si-yes  
> Mi madre solía llamarme su sol- My mother used to call me her sunshine.  
> Tu cama está allí.-Your bed is there.  
> “¡ La comida podría ser mejor, pero el servicio aquí es absolutamente horrible, señor!” -The food could be better, but the service here is absolutely terrible, sir!  
> “¿Acaba de llamarme Señor?” -Did you just call me sir?  
> Moquillo el anciano-Mistempered old man  
> Despertare-Wake up  
> “Entonces cuenta ovejas.-go back to bed  
> “Lo siento.-sorry  
> “Seguro que estás.” -Sure you are  
> “Ahora Duérmete, estúpido.” -Now go to sleep, stupid.


End file.
